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Updated: May 31, 2025
Both men were using high-pressure guns, and the deadly shock of the slugs made Seagrue twitch and stagger. The man was dying as he walked. Smith's hand was racing with the lever, and had a cartridge jammed, the steel would have snapped like a match. It was beyond human endurance to support the leaden death. The little square of brass between the sights wavered.
The hard work voluntarily undertaken by the scout to aid the boy, as he termed Bucks, in identifying his graceless assailants was vindicated when, the next morning, the party with their prisoners arrived on a special train at Point of Rocks, and Bucks immediately pointed to Seagrue as the man who had first fired at him.
Silence fell upon the gloom of the dusk. Then came a calling between Smith and Wickwire, and a signalling of pistol-shots for their companions. Kennedy and Bob Scott dashed down toward the river-bed on their horses. Seagrue lay on his face. Young Rebstock sat with his hands around his knees on the sand.
It was only after a moment that the lineman could be seen to gain. Then, as he bent the gambler's arm back, he suddenly released it and struck the revolver out of his hand. Seagrue, with a curse, sprang back, and drawing a knife rushed for the second time at the lineman. Dancing jumped to one side. As he did so he seized an axe from the hand of one of the choppers and turned again on Seagrue.
Bob Scott slashed a tent guy and handed it to him. In another minute Dancing, in spite of Seagrue's struggles, had lashed his prisoner hand and foot. Picking him up bodily, he walked unopposed to the landing, and to the astonishment of the spectators heaved Seagrue with scant ceremony into a flatboat. There a trooper kept him quiet.
One cut the dusty hair from Smith's temple and slit the brim of his hat above his ear; the other struck Seagrue under the left eye, ploughed through the roof of his mouth, and, coming out below his ear, splintered the rock at his back. The shock alone would have staggered a bullock, but Seagrue, laughing, came forward pumping his gun.
He whirled like a wounded bear and sprang at Seagrue, taking upon his shoulder a second blow hardly less terrific than the first. Before Seagrue could strike again, Dancing was upon him. Tearing at each other's throats the two men struggled, each trying to free his right arm. Seagrue was borne steadily backward.
The half-light threw him up tall and dark, but it showed the heavy shock of black hair falling over his forehead, and the broad, thin face of a mountain man. "He has just been telling me that Seagrue is loose," Whispering Smith explained pleasantly. "Who turned the trick, Wickwire?" "Sheriff Coon and a deputy jailer started with Seagrue for Medicine Bend this morning.
When you pull, get a bullet into his stomach at the start, if you possibly can, to spoil his aim. We mustn't make the mistake of underestimating him. Rebstock is right: he is a fright with a revolver, and Sinclair and Seagrue are the only men in the mountains that can handle a rifle with him. Now we split here; and good luck!" "Don't you want to take Brill Young with you?"
Dancing and Scott were gone half an hour. The report, when they returned, was not encouraging. "It is a bunch of cutthroats from Medicine Bend, colonel," said Bob Scott. "All friends of yours, I presume, Bob," returned Stanley. The scout only smiled. "John Rebstock is there with his following. But the boss, I think, is big George Seagrue. He is mean, you know.
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